Hair Loss

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He was begotten in the galley and born under a gun. Every hair was a rope yarn, every finger a fish-hook, every tooth a marline-spike, and his blood right good Stockholm tar.
—Naval epitaph.

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Your hair may be brushed, but your mind’s untidy,
You’ve had about seven hours’ sleep since Friday,
No wonder you feel that lost sensation;
You’re sunk from a riot of relaxation.
—Ogden Nash (1902–1971)